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2014.01.15 - Three Card Monte
A snow blanketed hotel in Chicago. Five figures sit in a smoky room, piles of chips moving back and forth between them as cards are dealt and hands swap out. Cigars lay smoldering in porcelin ahshtrays next to half-drunk beers and cloudy shot glasses. The chatter is jovial, punctuated by the occasional exclamations of triumph or dismay. The interaction is for the most part friendly. A large muscular bald man with broad shoulders and a tan sits across from one of the familiar disguises Taskmaster usually sports, this one being a gray suit jacket and white button up shirt with rather attractive yet 'common' long brown hair brown eyed features and not surprisingly a tattered pale tan cowboy hat. Taskmaster carries on in a joking casual manner with the bigger man to his right, across from both of them sits Zayin with his handlebar moustache and Pinkerton style pin-stripe suit. He looks as dull as usual barely making facial expressions or speaking. He's great at poker. A dull ceiling fan spin overhead. A man by the door in a black /monkey suit/ speaks through the noise as his cell buzzs with a text, "She has arrived." This isn't Madripoor. No, business for the most part in Madripoor is now solid; Cobra has it's fortress in the form of Anastasia's villa and the span of wharf she's legally and otherwise gained complete dominance over. They definitely had their slice and the Naga Trading Co. is doing fantastic on the business front. Also Bard's even gained some decent measure of respect and acknowledgement from the Baroness' personnel. Including the men here now, Zayin, Taskmaster, the Constrictor or "Frank" and the others. He may as well be another crook like the rest of them. In front of the hotel just off Lake Shore Drive, Lions sit in regal roaring repose at the front doors, part of the old architectural structure of Chicago, guardians to the entry aglow almost golden, like a beacon in the swirling and sideways falling wintry fall. Stepping out of the SUV she heads for that lit entryway, one hand still gloved in a liquid black and trimmed in white fur at the wrist slides digits across the expanse of one of the roaring beasts head, cutting through the snow piled atop its frigid stony mane and dusting it off. "Pity most good pets are made of stone." She speaks lowly to herself as the arctic wind coming off the lake sweeps up the white trench coats tails and snaps them around her, revealing the spanse of reinforced and yet liquid black covered legs, those boots strapped to upper thigh where the glean of a pistol casts its own light aainst the darkness and falling dead of winter. Not like anyone cared, the concierge opened the door and directed her to the room quickly, no waste in time or breath for the woman who did not even give him a frozen glance from behind glasses. Riding up the elevator it rang forth to open twin gilded doors to face directly to where her favored and expanding company gathered. The door opened and closed quietly behind her as she walked past one table, plucking a cigarette from one lone pack sitting on an end table, approaching the table where the cowboy as well as company gathered, gripping Constrictor by his cheeks to have the cigar dangling between his lips touch the end of her cigarette and bring it to life. "Thanks doll.." She states moving towards a window to open it slightly and drop the white fur trimmed trench coat fitting for Russian winters across the back of a chair. It'd been a whle, and Roy wasn't intending on pulling off another 'arms' deal, particularly with Vlatava on the verge of clashing with Qurac over a government official. But keeping tabs on potential arms movement, particularly with Baroness's ever-expanding reach, meant that Roy had to play the long-game here. Glasses doffed, white suit on, and scruffed beard, 'William Bard' steps out of the elevator moments after Baroness had made her entrance. "Hullo boys and lady," 'Bard' greets. "Hard to believe the lady even needs a coat for this weather. The rest of you mugs... eh... nothing's going to save you from these cold harsh winters." The Constrictor's eyes go wide and a lopsided grin falls on his face, "Kinda stuffy in here, need a place to sit?" A hand slapping his thigh after Baroness pulls away with the lit cigarette. Zayin clears his throat, "Manners, gentlemen." The Night Creeper reminds as he stands upright and draws out a chair for the Baroness, a chair the fifth player quickly vacated at her arrival. Bard's arrival only gets a curious glance from the /ninja banker/. One of those why is he here? looks. "Who is the scrub?" A red haired man asks, lean bodied yet muscular like most here. Under the brown long jacket a green full body combat suit is visible, knives and guns attached to it. "Ana." Taskmaster offers before smiling over at Roy who immediately gets something hard launched at him with accuracy almost on par with the archer's own capabilities. A beer. "Bard. Catch." Contrictor's lopsided grin ad offer gets the baroness to return the same to him, but it seems to edge a bit closer to that of dangerous, lips darkened in hue without the shadows that cast in a perfect forbodance across her façade. Behind glasses eyes even narrow, his offer nicely declined with hands coming ungloved, digit by digit only to pat at the daggers strapped around upper thighs with holstered pistols - precarious in even their own perch over coated flesh to threaten danger in the wrong movement - her own or otherwise. "If I accepted I'd fear irreparable damage." Instead she took the chair offered beside Zayin who gets a casual glance that states everything and nothing, just one of simple /I know/, and leaves it at that. Acutely aware of the mans feelings, but even snakes need 'snakes' in their midst, it adds flavor. Bard now is glanced over and given the formal recognition of placidity, but one brow rises. "It has been a while, welcome back." Shifting her gaze she glances to the green suited man, a slow once over of scrutiny as well until she rests back in the chair and exhales a plume of licking smoke from her lips, addressing Zayin briefly. "Did you inform them of the run in Belarus?" The beer is caught, and opened in one swift motion, the inevitable spray explosion of beer and foam aimed at the direction of the ninja banker. Whether or not it had the distance, 'Bard' lifts up the canister, toasting the banker, before taking a hearty swig of the beer as he moves in position to take a seat. "Eh, been here and there. I see you've been keeping yourself busy." Whether or not they were taking advantage of the disruptions through the underworld of various terrorist organizations to assimilate them, there was no doubt that the Baroness had put herself in position to reap the benefits, something acknowledged in the smirk he flashes the woman. Settling in next to Taskmaster, Bard asks, "You guys had something to do with Belarus? Impressive." Zayin's mouth opens to speak to Baroness when a spray of foam and booze hits him. His lips curl up and twist in obvious disdain as he pulls out a handkerchief and slowly starts to wipe himself off a deathglare cast at Bard before he sits back down in his seat straight backed and rigid as ever. "No, ma'am I had not." Constrictor just sniggers at the entire ordeal, "I like him already." He says with a continued smile. "Mr. Stuffy pants here needed to cool off anyways I think he was getting pissy he is losing. Get used to it pal, Tony cheats." Taskmaster reclines back in his seat looking comfortable before he starts to reshuffle the deck and deal out hands - one included for Bard. "He's a gun like the rest of us. All you need to know Rancor unless you wanna spill on your gig here in Chi-Town. You tell, we tell. 'Sides gives us all something to lady-gossip about." Tipping his head towards the mini-fridge that gets drug over to the table by one of Baroness' mooks, "Join us, Bard. Show these chumps how to hang." Rancor snorts but seeing Roy catch the bottle as he did and the casual manner the others act towards the newcomer seems enough for him, "Nothing to share. Just a high paying gig I dunno if I should say shit about it considering who you're pals with." Taskmaster looks curiously at Rancor and inquires, "Who?" "Deathstroke." Two convos at once begin as Zayin looks towards Baroness then Bard, Constrictor and the conversing duo of Rancor and Taskmaster. "Is it necessary I inform Bard and these others or shall we wait?" Rancor nods his head at Taskmaster, "Yep. Your crowd is a little too chummy with him. I don't want to step on toes." "We're all professionals here. A gig is a gig, do tell and I'll cut you in on a slice of my own in the future." Frank mutters something about worse than girls in to his own drink but at the same time scoots over a little bit so Roy/Bard can squeeze in. The Baroness getting another glance over his glass. Yeah we all know what he is thinking. Everyone at this table harbors those same dark thoughts. It's part of the woman's power. Zayin has a small point, his mistrust not something the Baroness would seek to push without reason, though it seems Bard already has a small clue about Belarus. Considering she blew up the manse on their departure that held government ties as well as underground scientific research... It is no small news for that little country and those with their ears to the ground. "I do not like aristocracy, what can I say." Baroness states, her repose slowly slinking into a more feline sprawl and yet remaining somehow refined, even as her leg slings over an arm of the velveteen chair, fingers plucking up the cards dealt and returning to her poker face for the moment while her eyes dart between conversations. Rancor is given another steady gaze over the top of neatly fanned cards that /sweep/ closed with a flick of her wrist. "I am curious as to how a man like him ended up in the clutches of officials and headed for the Raft. How he got out..." She looks between Bard and Taskmaster without a flinch over that frozen profile.. "That is easy enough." Now she returns the look to Rancor and grins as the cards flick back out and open for a barely caring glance. "We may not get along nor play fotsie outside of these gatherings, but when we're here one goal is in mind, share it and can the petty woman's games until we're done. If I don't have time for it, you shouldn't." A small grin offered to the man as she now looks to Frank and coyly fans herself with the cards like a woman of old refinement with her fan during the summers. "Sweety keep it up and I'll have to have you ask my 'pa for rights..." Yeah.. That wont happen, one key factor being her dad is also buried under the rubble of his manse. You're welcome. Deathstroke. Currently roaming free after the bust-out courtesy Rose Wilson and her hired gang. That Roy had settled accounts on Lian's behalf with Slade Wilson, Roy was content with that, but he still couldn't help but be curious. "Deathstroke's back to his old tricks after he left?" Bard asks, taking another hearty swig as he eyes the Baroness appreciatively. "As to how he ended up there... well, things happened at a family reunion. You know how those get - sometimes the black sheep of the family make a spectacble of themselves. "Taking another swig, Bard adds, "Though there was no lamp shading to be had. Just a man, his children, and a few thousand bullets." Cards cycle and the game continues Zayin laying out a 7 of Diamonds but not speaking now. It isn't a hidden thing the Night Creeper mistrusts and outright dislikes Roy Harper but as ever he is a stoic businessman and a professional. "I find it hard to believe an angel like you has parents. Doesn't the man just say let there be light and you beautiful creatures just spring to life?" Frank in a line he is clearly very proud of while he sets down a Jack of Hearts. The back and forth gets a choked laugh from Taskmaster as he sputters some beer, "Ya fuckin' tool, Frank." The laughter subsiding as he shrugs at the Baroness. "Just one o' them things." He owed Deathstroke thats all it came down to or at least that is what he will tell himself and others. Rancor taking a swig as well pushes long auburn strands out of his face before leaning forward, an elbow on the table, "Been hired to kill his daughter and the crowd she runs with. Nothing personal." That is probably a lie. Everyone has something against Slade Wilson aka Deathstroke the Terminator. Rancor is in that list. "Nothing huge aside from the pay out." He shrugs casually and sits back, "Got more room on my team if anyone wants to join. Just lost a guy the other night." Silence from the others around the table, Constrictor is preoccupied hosting fantasies about Baroness in his head and Taskmaster settles for a reserved easy reply. "Shes a tough kid. Good luck." "No care if she is tough or not. I got a whole crew and shes already been called in. Bitch is good as dead." Looking around the table he changes the subject as soon as he is done gloating a little, "What about Belarusia? Why are you all here? I shared. Your turn." "I don't have parents. I killed them." Matter of factly, Baroness states this with a casual motion to lean forward despite the protesting groans of that body suit over her figure to snuff the life out of the cigarette in a tray. "I'm the wrong kind of angel." Once more the cards are glanced at, as well as the faces of those at the table, trying to gauge, weigh in their movements, facial quirks, tell-takle signs that lead to... "Nope." She closes the fanned out cards and lays them down, showing resignation. Even a deadly woman knows when to resign in fun and games. Leaning back once more she perches her elbow on the aloft bent knee and props her chin in her hand, fingertips tapping over her lips as she keeps a leveled stare upon him. Hearing Bard and blinking slowly at him she only nods. If that kind of family reunion made Deathstroke easy to take down it had possibilities and spoke /worlds/ enough. "I see no benefits from partaking in this. Just be sure it doesn't interfere.." Her hand waves around their table and ends in a waffling motion of lack-of-care to tip off the iceberg of apathy. She is not about to stop anyone else from aiding the man, though. Business for them is business and as long as her toes don't reap the repercussions that may come she will remain just as indifferent in candor. "I attended an auction, got what I wanted, mingled, and leveled the place. I am here because I /love/ the weather, need a break from the humid tropic death. Not to mention I simply -adore- the company. Better to catch up in person." Baroness flashes a grin of all teeth, simply lacking the sharp retractable canines. "Can keep trying, but I wouldn't cross Deathstroke," 'Bard' replies, draining the beer can to the dregs before putting the can down on the table before him. "Doesn't matter what you do to him, he'll find some way to take you down, probably with some ace in the hole you don't know about till it comes out." Lifting his eyes to regard Baroness, 'Bard' flashes a grin. "Meanwhile, what happened to the redhead you got working for you? I'd love to touch bases with her, if you know what I mean." A lingering stare on Rancor before Taskmaster subject hops to glance sidelong at Frank as well, "How is Rachel?" Constrictor quirks a brow at Taskmaster, "Who?" A pause and he covers up with a quick, "She's good. Got some new toys from the Fixer." His attentions being heaped on the Baroness now withdrawn. "No thanks, Rancor. I'll just steer clear of that mess." Rancor sits back further in his chair so his bandoleer is visible, knives latched along it's length and a sidearm. Rather high-tech one that screams expensive. "We'll be ready for that too if we have to be but I don't think Deathstroke will be a concern. This is business after all. Besides whats another dead kid for the guy?" A laugh is inserted here, "Am I right? Huh?" He's still laughing like he's just told a very funny joke. No one else really joins in on that. Even thugs have some bit of family loyalty. "I'll pass as well. Besides you'd cramp my style." Taskmaster adds. "I got a very elite few I work with and you're just not up to par, Ranky." Rancor guzzles more of his beer, "Ever you say man. Offer still stands... so, this slice, you got anything juicy? I heard you got the connections Baroness. Need a team of badasses for anything? Once we kill Ravager and her buddies we'll be pretty high demand. May want to take me up now while I'm thinking discounts." Baroness has already dismissed any talk of Deathstroke and his family 'ties'. It is none of her business and though some of them may share family loyalty or kinship, she has none as long as it does not disturb her loyalties and plans. At least that she lets on. Baroness only slides her glance from Taskmaster and Frank's exchange, the mirth in her slowly forming smirk somewhat veiled by the way she slowly starts to slither in removal from the chair. "Last thing I need right now is women problems." She says in regards to approaching jealous femme fatales that have already laid claim. She knows well of Diamondback and Constrictor. Bard's inquiry on Pamela has her shaking her head and hefting one shoulder up in a roll that is a lingering shrug. "She had business to attend to elsewhere, but enough notes were left to keep us going, would you like a few to wipe your lips on, I'm sure there enough lingering to numb your want." The smirk becomes coy in her meaning of yet another woman's deadly 'venom' and lingering want from such. Slipping behind Taskmaster in her path towards Rancor she sweeps up his cowboy hat and flips it atop her head with a small tip of her chin towards him. "I like this, I think I'll keep it." Though pausing between Task and Rancor, she now focuses on him from between the rim of glasses and the brim of a cowboy hat. "I do a lot of business, I have a lot of ties, and you show promise.." Her tongue clicks at the back of her upper teeth, the motion of forked muscle a flash between parted lips. "We will see how many are left standing when your /noble deed/ is done, and what is left of your promise after. I don't shop for my people on the discount racks, money isn't all that matters." Leaning back up her fingertips sweep over the brim of the hat as if righting it, though left it in place, fingertips dropping to her lips as they coil into the shape of a pistol to which she kisses the tip of and then aims it at him. "I recommend care." Cocked. Trigger pulled with a wink and she moved off to the side room, closing the door to the herald of her voice and others coming back in response of a conference call... Eyebrow arched, Bard says nothing. You would have thought Taskmaster would have been well aware of just how 'Bard' was involved with Rose's request to save her father from the Raft, but then again, the man had a memory as full of holes as a strainer. Keeping his face carefully neutral, intending to at least give Rose a heads up when he had a chance, Roy keeps his gaze on the Baroness. Admittedly, not a difficult task. "Oh, she's got a lot of things I'd love to look over," Bard replies, with a smirk. "But I'll settle for saying hello. Speaking of which, I think you still owe me for that bet." Or was it him who owed the bet? It didn't really matter, one way or another, it was just one more attempt at gaining the pleasure of the Baroness's company... Frank blinks several times and remembers to wipe the drool off of his lips as he watches the Baroness saunter off, "Damn." He manages before his chair creaks under him while he re-adjusts in his seat, "I fold." His cards going face down and tossed in front of him. Rancor doesn't seem as absorbed in the Baroness antics as the others but what she says encourages a confident smirk across his stubble laden features, "WHEN we finish it I'll be in touch. Trust me... we're good." Zayin pushs a card around with a fingertip, "I will have a car ready for you in the morning, Miss DeCobray." Taskmaster's own amusement is evident as his hat gets stolen and the woman makes a sightly departure. "It's good to be bad, eh boys?" The man's memory is that of a fish as Roy puts it and finer details at times are lost. Even obvious ones. Thankfully nothing new and enlightening has pushed out much recently. "Alright, show your hands." Zayin setting out a Flush. Rancor a Four of a Kind. Taskmaster a Royal Flush. Constrictor shaking his head, "Warned you he cheats. Dude spent too much time in Vegas. And me too Bard, me too." One final stare given blatantly to the woman's departing ass. "C'mon now, Frank, you know I wouldn't swindle you guys. We're all battle buddies here." Taskmaster taunts as the door behind the Baroness closes. Several of her suited up goons carrying her luggage in tow. "So whats this about Criminals for Hire?" Rancor inquires. "Villains." Taskmaster corrects, "And you're not invited. No D-Listers." "Hey, fuck you." The green and auburn haired merc snarls. More laughter rings the table and Zayin lets out a weary sigh. "New hand?" Category:Log